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E .’Phillips Oppcnheim
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Novelized from the Photo Play of the Same Name. Produced by the Universal
Film Manufacturing Company.
SYNOPSIS.
Sanford Quest, master criminologist of
the world, finds that in bringing to jus
tice Macdougal, the murderer of Lord
Ashleigh’s daughter, he has but just be
gun a life-and-death struggle with a mys
terious master criminal. In a hidden hut
in Professor Ashleigh's garden he has
seen an anthropoid ape skeleton and a
living inhuman creature, half monkey,
half man, destroyed by fire. In his rooms
have appeared from nowhere black boxes
containing sarcastic, threatening notes,
signed by a pair of armless hands. Laura
and Lenora, his assistants, suspect Craig,
the professor's servant, of a double mur
der. The black boxes continue to appear
in uncanny fashion. Craig is trapped by
Quest, but escapes to England, where
Quest, Lenora and the professor follow
him. Lord Ashleigh is murdered by the
Hands. Lenora is abducted in London
and rescued. Craig Is captured and es
capes to Port Said.
TENTH INSTALLMENT
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SHIP OF HORROR.
Quest leaned a little forward and
gazed down the line of steamer chairs.
The professor. In a borrowed overcoat
and cap, was reclining at full length,
studying a book on seagulls which he
had found In the library. Laura and
Lenora were both dozing tranquilly.
Mr. Harris of Scotland Yard was deep
in a volume of detective stories.
“As a pleasure cruise,” Quest re
marked grimly, “this little excursion
seems to be a complete success.”
Laura opened her eyes at once.
“Trying to get my goat again, eh?”
she retorted. "I suppose that’s what
you’re after. Going to tell me, I sup
pose, that it wasn’t Craig I saw aboard
this steamer?’
“We are all liable to make mis
takes,” Quest observed, “and I am in
clined to believe that this is one of
yours.”
Laura’s expression was a little dog
ged.
“If he’s too clever for you and Mr.
Harris,” she said, “I can’t help that.
I only know that he came on board.
My eyes are the one thing in life I do
believe.”
“If you’ll excuse me saying so, Miss
Laura,” Harris ventured, leaning def
erentially towards her, “there isn’t a
passenger on board this ship, or a
servant, or one of the crew, whom we
haven’t seen. We’ve been into every
stateroom, and we’ve even searched
She hold. We’ve been over the ship,
backwards and forwards. The cap
tain’s own steward has been our guide,
and we’ve conducted an extra search
on our own account. Personally, I
must say I have come to the same
conclusion as Mr. Quest. At the pres
ent moment there is no such person
as the man we are looking for on
board this steamer.”
“Then he either changed into an
other one,” Laura declared obstinate
ly, “or else he jumped overboard.”
“Come on, Harris, you and I prom
ised to report to the captain this
morning. I don’t suppose he’ll be any
too pleased with us. Let’s get through
with it.
The two men walked down the deck
together. They found the captain
alone in his room, with a chart spread
out in front of him and a pair of com
passes in his hand. He turned round
and greeted them.
“Well?”
"No luck, sir,” Quest announced.
"‘Your steward has given us every as
sistance possible and we have
searched the ship thoroughly. Un
less he has found a hiding place un
known to your steward, and not appar
ent to us, the man is not on board.”
The captain frowned slightly.
“You are not suggesting that this is
possible, I suppose?’
“Quest did not at once reply. He
was thinking of Laura’s obstinacy.
“Personally,” he admitted, “I should
not have believed it possible. The
young lady of our party, however, who
declares that she saw Craig board the
steamer, is quite immovable.”
“Brown,” said the captain, turning
to the steward, “I understand that you
say that you have taken these gentle
men into every corner of the ship, that
you have ransacked every possible
hiding place, that you have given them
every possible opportunity of search
ing for themselves?”
.“That is quite true, sir,” the man
acknowledged.
| You agree with me that it is im
possible for anyone to remain hidden
in this ship?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“You hear, gentlemen?” the captain
containued. “I really can do no more.
What the mischief are you hanging
about for, Brown?” he asked, turning
to the steward, who was standing by
with a carpet-sweeper in his hand.
“Room wants cleaning out badly,
sir.”
The captain glanced distastefully at
the carpet-sweeper.
“Do it when I am at dinner, then,”
he ordered, “and take that damned
thing away.”
The steward obeyed promptly. Quest
and Harris followed him down the
deck.
“Queer-looking fellow, that,” the lat
ter remarked. “Doesn't seem quite at
his ease, does he?”
"Seemed a trifle overanxious, I
thought, when he was showing us
round the ship,” Quest agreed.
“Mem,,” Harris murmured, softly,
“as the gentleman who wrote the vol
ume of detective stories I am reading
puts it, to keep our eye on
Brown.” . . .
The captain, who was down to din
ner unusually early, rose to welcome
Quest’s little party, and himself ar
ranged the seats.
They settled down into the places
arranged for them.
An elderly lady, dressed in some
what oppressive black, with a big
cameo brooch at her throat and a
black satin bag in her hand, was being
shown by the steward to a seat by
Quest’s side. She acknowledged the
captain’s greeting acidly.
“Good evening, captain,” she said. “I
understood from the second steward
that the seat on your right hand would
be reserved for me. I am Mrs. Fos
ton Rowe.”
The captain received the announce
ment calmly. .
“Very pleased to have you at the
table, madam,” he replied. “As to the
seating, I leave that entirely to the
steward. I never interfere myself.”
Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora
glanced away to hide a smile. Mrs.
Foston Rowe studied the menu disap
provingly.
“Hors d'oeuvres,” she declared, “I
never touch. No one knows how long
they’ve been opened. Bouillon —I will
have some bouillon, steward.”
“In one moment, madam.”
The professor came ambling along
towards the table.
“I fear that I am a few moments
late,” he remarked, as he took the
chair next to Mrs. Foston Rowe. I of
fer you my apologies, captain. I con
gratulate you upon your library. I have
discovered a most interesting book up
on the habits of seagulls. It kept me
engrossed until the very last moment,
and I am hungry.”
“Well, you’ll have to stay hungry a
long time at this table then,” Mrs. Fos
ton Rowe snapped. “Seems to me
that the service is going to be abomin
able.”
The steward, who had just arrived,
presented a cup of bouillon to Quest.
The others had all been served. Quest
stirred it thoughtfully.
“And as to the custom,” Mrs. Foston
Rowe continued, “of serving gentle
men before ladies, it is, I suppose, pe
culiar to this steamer.”
Quest hastily laid down his spoon,
raised the cup of bouillon and pre
sented it with a little bow to his neigh
bor.
“Pray allow me, madam,” he begged.
“The steward was to blame.”
Mrs. Foston Rowe did not hesitate
for a moment. She broke up some
toast in the bouillon and commenced
to sip it.
The spoon suddenly went clattering
from her Angers. She caught at the
sides of the table, there was a strange
“A Message From the Hands! Look!”
look in her face. With scarcely a
murmur she fell back in her seat.
Quest leaned hurriedly forward.
There was a slight commotion. The
doctor came hurrying up from the oth
er side of the saloon. He bent over
her and his face grew grave.
“What is it?” the captain demanded.
The doctor glanced at him mean
ingly.
“She had better be carried out,” he
whispered.
“Was it a faint?” Lenora asked.
“We shall know directly,” the cap
tain replied. “Better keep your places
I think. Steward, serve the dinner as
usual.”
The man held out his hand to with
draw the cup of bouillon, but Quest
drew it towards him.
“Let it wait for a moment,” he or
dered.
He glanced at the captain, who nod
ded back. In a few moments the doc
tor reappeared. He leaned down and
whispered to the captain.
“Dead!”
Quest turned around.
THE DOUGLAS ENTERPRISE, DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
“Doctor,” he said, “I happen to have
my chemical chest with me, and some
special testing tubes. If you’ll allow
me, I’d like to examine this cup of
bouillon. You might come round, too,
if you will.”
The captain nodded.
“I’d better stay here for a time,” he
decided. “I’ll follow you presently.”
The service of dinner was resumed.
Laura, however, sent plate after plate
away. The captain watched her anx
iously.
“I can’t help it,” she explained. “I
don’t know whether you’ve had any
talk with Mr. Quest, but we’ve been
through some queer times lately. I
guess this death business is getting
on my nerves.”
The captain was startled.
“You don’t for a moment connect
Mrs. Foston Rowe’s death with the
criminal you are in search of?” he
exclaimed.
Laura sat quite still for a moment.
“The bouillon was offered first to
Mr. Quest,” she murmured.
The captain called his steward.
“Where did you get the bouillon
from you served —that last cup, espe
cially?” he asked.
* “From the pantry just as usual,
sir,” the man answered. “It was all
served out from the same caldron.”
“Any chance of anyone getting at
it?”
“Quite impossible, sir.”
In Quest’s stateroom the doctor,
the professor, Quest and Lenora were
all gathered around two little tubes,
which the criminologist was examin
ing with an electric torch.
“No reaction at all,” the latter mut
tered. “This isn’t an ordinary poison,
anyway.”
The professor, who had been stand
ing on one side, suddenly gave vent to
a soft exclamation.
“Walt!” he whispered. “Wait! I
have an idea.”
He hurried off to his stateroom.
The doctor was poring over a volume
of tabulated poisons. Quest was still
watching his tubes. Lenora sat upon
the couch. Suddenly the professor
reappeared. He was carrying a small
notebook in his hand, his manner be
trayed some excitement. He closed
the door carefully behind him.
“I want you all,” he begged, “to
listen very carefully to me. You will
discover the application of what I am
going to read when I am finished.
Now, if you please.”
“This,” he began, “is the diary of a
tour made by Craig and myself in
northern Egypt some fourteen years
ago. Here is the first entry of im
port:
MONDAY—Twenty-nine miles southeast
of Port Said. We have stayed for two
days at a little Mongar village. I have
today come to the definite conclusion that
anthropoid apes were at one time deni
zens of this country.
TUESDAY—Both Craig and I have been
a little uneasy today. These Mongars
into whose encampment we have found
our way, are one of the strangest and
fiercest of the nomad tribes. They are
descended, without a doubt, from the an
cient Mongolians, who Invaded this coun
try some seven hundred years before
Christ, but have preserved In a marvelous
way their individuality as a race. They
have the narrow eyes and the thick nose
base of the pure Oriental; also much of
his cunning. One of their special weak
nesses seems to be the Invention of the
most hideous forms of torture, which
they apply remorselessly to their ene
mies.
WEDNESDAY—This has been a won
derful day for us, chiefly owing to what
I must place on record as an act of great
bravery by Craig, my servant. Early this
morning, a man-eating lion found his
way into the encampment. The Mongars
behaved like arrant cowards. They fled
right and left, leaving the chief's little
daughter. Feerda, at the brute’s mercy.
Craig, who is by no means an adept in
the use of firearms, chased the animal as
he was making off with the child, and,
more by good luck than anything else,
managed to wound it mortally. He
brought the child back to the encamp
ment just as the chief and the warriors
of the tribe returned from a hunting ex
pedition. Our position here is now abso
lutely secure. We are treated like gods,
and, appreciating my weakness for all
matters of science, the chief has today
explained to me many of the secret mys
teries of the tribe. Amongst other things,
he has shown me a wonderful secret poi
son. known only to this tribe, which they
call Veedemzoo. It brings almost Instant
death, and is exceedingly difficult to trace.
The addition of sugar causes a curious
condensation and resolves it almost to a
white paste. The only antidote is a sub
stance which they use here freely, and
which is exactly equivalent to our cam
phor.
The professor closed his book.
Quest promptly rang the bell.
“Some sugar,” he ordered, turning
to the steward.
They waited In absolute silence.
The suggestion which the professor’s
disclosure had brought to them was
stupefying, even Quest's fingers, as a
moment or two later he rubbed two
knobs of sugar together so that the
contents should fall Into the tubes of
bouillon, shook. The result was
magical. The bouillon turned to a
strange shade of gray and began
slowly to thicken.
“It is Mongar poison!” the profes
sor cried, with breaking voice.
They all looked at one another.
“Craig must be here amongst us,”
Quest muttered.
“And the bouillon,” Laura cried,
clasping Quest’s arm, “the bouillon
was meant for you!” . . .
There seemed to be, somehow,
among all of them, a curious indis
position to discuss this matter. Sud
denly Lenora, who was sitting on the
lounge underneath the porthole, put
out her hand and picked up a card
which was lying by his side. She
glanced at it, at first, curiously. Then
she shrieked.
“A message!” she cried. “A mes
sage from The Hands! Look!”
They crowded around her. In that
same familiar handwriting was
scrawled across the face of the card
these few words:
To Sanford Quest;
You have escaped this time by a
» . ML
4:1 1 |Ox.;
V 1 .y. '. v'r;
“As a Pleasure Cruise,” Quest Remarked, “This Excursion Seems to Be a
Success.”
chance of fortune, not because your
wits are keen, not because of your
own shrewdness; simply because
Fate willed it. It will not be for long.
Underneath was the drawing of the
clenched hands.
“There is no longer any doubt,”
Lenora said calmly. “Craig is on
board. He must have been on deck
a few minutes ago. It was his hand
which placed this card on the port
hole. . . . Listen! What’s that?”
There was a scream from the deck.
They all recognized Laura’s voice.
Harris was out of the stateroom first,
but they were all on deck within ten
seconds. Laura was standing with
one hand clasping the rail, her hand
fiercely outstretched towards the low
er part of the promenade deck.
Through the darkness they heard the
sound of angry voices.
“What is it, Laura?” Lenora cried.
She swung round upon them.
“Craig!” she cried. “Craig! I
saw his face as I sat in my chair
there, talking to the captain. I saw
a man’s white face —nothing else. He
must have been leaning over the rail.
He heard me call out and he disap
peared.”
The captain came slowly out of the
shadows, limping a little, and fol
lowed by his steward, who was mur
muring profuse apologies.
“Did you find him?” Laura demand
ed, eagerly.
“I did not,” the captain replied, a
little tersely. “I ran into Brown here
and we both had a shake-up.”
“But he was there —a second ago!”
Laura cried out.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” Brown
ventured, “but the deck’s closed at
the end, as you can see, with sail
cloth, and I was leaning over the
rail myself when you shrieked. There
wasn’t anyone else near me, and no
one can possibly have passed round
the deck, as you can see for your
self.”
“Very well, then,” she said, “you
people had better get a strait-waist
coat ready for me. If I didn’t see
Craig there, I’m going off my head.’’
Quest had disappeared some sec
onds ago. He came thoughtfully back,
a little later.
“Captain,” he asked, "what shall
you say if I tell you that I have proof
that Craig is on board?”
The captain glanced at Laura and
restrained himself.
“I should probably say a great many
things which I should regret after
wards,” he replied, grimly.
■‘Sit down and we’ll tell you what
has happened in my room,” Quest con
tinued.
He told the story, calmly and with
out remark. The captain held his
head.
“The ship shall be searched. ’ the
captain declared, “once more. We’ll
look into every crack and every cup
board.”
Lenora turned away with a little
shiver. It wae one of her rare mo
ments of weakness.
“You won’t find him! You won’t
find him!” she murmured. “And I
am afraid!”
*******
Lenora grasped the rails of the
steamer and glanced downwards at
the great barge full of Arab sailors
and merchandise. In the near back
ground were the docks of Port Said.
It was their first glimpse of eastern
atmosphere and color.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am,”
she declared to Quest, “to think that
this voyage is over. Every night I
have gone to bed terrified."
He smiled grimly.
“Coming on shore, any of you?”
Harris inquired.
“We may when the boat moves up,”
Quest replied. “The professor went
off on the first barge. Here he is,
coming back.”
A little boat had shot out from the
docks, manned by a couple of Arabs.
They could see the professor seated
in the stern. He was poring over a
small document which he held In his
band. He waved to them excitedly
“He’s got news!” Quest muttered.
He came straight to Quest and Len
ora and gripped the former by the
arm.
“Look!” he cried. “Look!”
He held out a card. Quest read it
aloud:
There is not one amongst you with
the wit of a Mongar child. Good-by!
The Hands!
“Where did you get it?” Quest de
manded.
“That’s the point—the whole point!”
the professor exclaimed excitedly.
“He’s done us! He's landed! That
paper was pushed into my hand by
a tall Arab, who mumbled something
and hurried off across the docks. On
the landing stage, mind!”
The captain came and put his head
out of the door.
“Mr. Quest,” he said, “can you spare
me a moment? You can all come, if
you like.”
They moved up towards him. The
captain closed the door of his cabin.
He pointed to a carpet-sweeper which
lay against the wall.
“Look at that,” he invited.
They lifted the top. Inside were sev
eral sandwiches and a small can of
tea.
“What on earth is this?” Quest de
manded.
The captain, without a word, led
them into his inner room. A huge
lounge stood in one corner. He lifted
the valance. Underneath were some
crumbs.
“You see,” he pointed out, “there’s
room there for a man to have hidden,
especially if he could crawl out on
deck at night. I couldn’t make out
why the dickens Brown was always
sweeping out my room, and I took up
this thing a little time ago and looked
at it. This is what I found.”
“Where's Brown?” Quest asked,
quickly.
“I rang down for the chief steward,”
the captain continued, “and ordered
Brown to be sent up at once. The
chief steward came himself instead.
It seems Brown went off without his
wages, but with a huge parcel of bed
ding, on the first barge this morn
ing, before anyone was about.”
Quest groaned as he turned away.
“Captain,” he declared, “I am
ashamed. He has been here all the
time and we’ve let him slip through
our fingers. Girls,” he went on brisk
ly, turning towards Laura, who had
just come up, “India’s off. We’ll
catch this barge, if there’s time. Our
luggage can be put on shore when the
boat docks.”
The captain walked gloomily with
them to the gangway.
“Professor,” Quest asked, “how long
would it take us to get to this Mongar
village you spoke about?”
“Two or three days, if we can get
camels,” the other replied. “I see you
agree with me, then, as to Craig’s
probable destination?”
Quest nodded.
“What sort of fellows are they, any
way?” he asked. “Will it be safe
for us to push on alone?”
“With me,” the professor assured
him, “you will be safe anywhere. I
speak a little of their language. X
have lived with them. They are far
more civilized than some of the in
terior tribes.”
They disembarked and were driven
to the hotel, still discussing their
project. The professor had disap
peared for some time, but rejoined
them later.
“It is all arranged,” he announced.
“I found a dragoman whom I knew.
We shall have four of the best camels
and a small escort ready to start to
morrow morning. Furthermore, I
have news. An Englishman, whose
description precisely tallies with
Craig’s, started off only an hour ago
in the same direction. This time,
at any rate, Craig cannot escape us.”
They made their way back to the
hotel, dined in a cool, bare room, and
sauntered out again into the streets.
The professor led the way to a little
building, outside which a man was vol
ubly inviting all to enter.
“You shall see one of the sights of
Port Said,” he promised. “This is a
real Egyptian dancing girl.”
A girl, who seemed to be dressed in
little more than a winding veil, glided
on to the stage, swaying and moving
slowly to the rhythm of the monoto
nous music. She danced a measure
which none of them except the pro
fessor had ever seen before, coming
now and then so close that they could
almost feel her hot breath, and Lenora
felt somewhat vaguely disturbed by
the glitter of her eyes.
Suddenly Laura leaned forward
“Look at the professor,” she whis
pered.
They all turned their heads. A queer
change seemed to have come into the
professor's face. His teeth were
gleaming between his parted lips, his
head was thrust forward a little, his
eyes were filled with a strange, hard
light. He was a transformed being,
unrecognizable, perturbing. Even
while they watched, the girl floated
close to where he sat and leaned to
wards him with a queer, mocking
smile. His hand suddenly descended
upon her foot. She laughed still more.
There was a little exclamation from
Lenora. The professor's wh'>se frame
quivered. He snatched the anklet
from the girl’s ankle and bent over it.
She leaned towards him, a torrent of
words streaming from her lips,
professor answered her in her own lan
guage. She listened to him in amaze
ment. The anger passed. She held out
both her hands. The professor still
argued. She shook her head. Finally
he placed some gold in her palms. She
patted him on the cheek, laughed into
his eyes, pointed behind and resumed
her dance. The anklet remained in the
professor’s hand.
“Say, we’ll get out of this,” Quest
said. “The girls have had enough.”
The professor made no objection.
“Congratulate me,” he said. “I have
been a collector of Egyptian gold orna
ments all my life. This is the one
anklet I needed to complete my collec
tion. It has the double mark of the
Pharaohs. I recognized it at once.
There are a thousand like it, you
would think, in the bazaars there. In
reality there may be, perhaps, a dozen
more in all Egypt which are genuine.”
They all looked at one another.
Their relief had grown too poignant
for words.
“Early start tomorrow," Quest re
minded them.
*******
Lenora, a few nights later, looked
down from the star-strewn sky which
seemed suddenly to have dropped so
much nearer to them, to the shadows
thrown across the desert by the danc
ing flames of their fire.
Laura rose to her feet.
“Say, I’m going to get a drink,” she
announced.
The dragoman who had been hover
ing around, bowed grarely and pointed
towards the water bof/les.
She took the horn cup from the
dragoman.
“Have some yourself, if you want
to, Hassan,” she invited.
Hassan bowed gravely, filled a cup
and drank it off. He stood for a mo
ment perfectly still, as though some
thing were coming over him which he
failed to understand. Then his lips
parted, his eyes for a moment seemed
to shoot from out of his dusky skin.
He threw up his arms and fell over on
his side. Laura, who nad only sipped
her cup, threw it fro|* her. She, too,
reeled for a moment The professor
and Quest came runn'-ag up, attracted
by Lenora’s shriek.
"They’re poisoned!' she cried.
“The Veedemzoo!” Quest shouted.
“My God! Pull yuirself together,
Laura. Hold up for a . linute.”
He dashed back ti- their little en
campment and reappcired almost im
mediately. He threu’ Laura’s head
back and forced some liquid down her
throat.
“It’s camphor!” he ti'led. “You’ll be
all right, Laura. Hold urn to yourself.”
He swung round to ’vhere the drago
man was lying, forced his mouth open,
but it was too late—tto man was dead.
He returned to Lauri, She stumbled
to her feet. She was pale, and drops
of perspiration were tv.anding on her
forehead. She was aid! to rise to her
feet, however, without assistance.
“I am all right now, ” Bhe declared.
Quest felt her puli a and her fore
head. They moved bi.ck to the fire.
“We are within a danen miles or so
of the Mongar villa pi,” Quest said
grimly. “Do you suppose that fellow
could have been watuhing?”
They all talked togffher for a time
in low voices. The j vofessor was in
i ''t
“Craig!" She Cried, “Craig! I Saw
His Face Tliere.”
dlined to scout the theory of Craig hav
ing approached them.
“You must remember,” he pointed
out, “that the Mongars hate these fel
lows. It was part of r»y arrangement
with Hassan that they should leave us
when we got in sight of the Mongar
encampment. It may b ive been meant
for Hassan. The Manors hate the
dragomen who bring tourists in this
direction at all.”
They talked a little . /hile longer and
finally stole away to their tents to
sleep. Outside, the camel drivers
talked still, chatterinj away, walking
now and then around Nassau's body in
solemn procession. Finally, one of
them who seemed to have taken the
lead, broke into an impassioned stream
of words. Soon they stole away—a
long, ghostly procession—into the
night.
‘Those fellows seen', to have left off
their infernal all of a sud
den,” Quest remarked, lankly, from In
side the tent.
The professor made no a lswer. Ht
was asleep.
(TO BE CONTINUEDJ